


The Reluctant Hero

by retrowavesasquatch



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: Barghest, Double Penetration, Fisting, Gnoll, Goblin - Freeform, Hag, Hobgoblin - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Minotaur - Freeform, Oral Sex, Orc, Trans Male Character, Violence, Volo's Guide Characters, Wererat, firbolg, kenku, kobold
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-10-20 14:13:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10664307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/retrowavesasquatch/pseuds/retrowavesasquatch
Summary: An ongoing series of shorts centered around a firbolg ranger; based on a Volo's Guide monstrous character campaign.





	1. Six Pints and a Bar Stool

Cully was bored. He’d finally ridded himself of that funny fellow with glowing eyes, and the bard was busy earning extra coin. So he made his way to the tavern, surprised as ever that they once again welcomed him. 

It was always an expensive venture, but he had the gold to spare. Tables and chairs designed for humans didn’t fair too well under firbolg bulk, even with a disguise. Illusions couldn’t reduce his weight, so he stopped bothering. This trip wasn’t any different: Eight pints and two chairs later, he was down 25 coins. He hadn’t even ordered food yet. Perhaps I should start with that first from now on, he thought.

The barmaid didn’t seem to mind him. He tipped well. 

“Hey, fancy Fancy.”

He sighed, the kenku loved his actual name and refused to call him Cully. Mostly for the jokes he could weave into his songs at the ranger’s expense. “It’s not every day you meet a giant fellow with a name like Dick Fancy.”

The littler fellow hopped up on the chair opposite him and waved at the barmaid. His fingers sparkled with new silver rings. Cully guessed his little venture must’ve been pretty lucrative.  

“Wub-Wub.” Cully said in acknowledgement before the woman bustled over. 

He ordered the stew, and she eyed him. “How much stew you wanting, big guy? I could bring you the pot if you got the coin for it.” 

“Three bowls will be fine.” A dwarf two tables over ordered the same meal, and he saw the size of the serving bowl. 

“An ale, and, hmm,” Wub-Wub tapped the end of his beak. “Stew too. Yes. But one bowl, please, and bread.” Once the woman walked away, he turned his attention back to Cully. “So, my large buddy, what’ve you been up to, or should I say, who have you been up in?”

“You saw that, huh?”

“Kinda hard to miss a hobgoblin in a place like this.” He paused to let the barmaid set their pints down. A young girl was helping her carry the rest. Wub-Wub mimicked the tinkling of piano keys to her delight, and winked. 

“Business or pleasure?”

“What do you think?”

Wub-Wub warbled, then took a sip of his ale. “Hard to tell with hobgoblins. They’re all so uptight. You know, I heard they only smile in battle.”

“Oh, that’s not true.”

“Ha! So pleasure, then. Glad to see you’re making good use of your part of the reward.”

“What makes you think I paid for his services? I’ll have you know that I can be charming when I want to.”

“You’re about a charming as a gnoll, Dick.” 

They ate in silence. Silence because Cully was hungry, and Wub-Wub was fascinated by how quickly the firbolg could put away food. He also liked how tiny the spoon looked in his big fingers. It was as if he’d raided a child’s play set.

“That hobgoblin coming back, or was that a fling?” Wub-Wub asked after they left. He put a feathered hand on Cully’s thigh as the firbolg swayed. He wasn’t sure why he did it. If the ranger decided to collapse, he’d be crushed beneath him. 

Cully shrugged, “up to him, I guess. I’m always open.”

The bard laughed, “Oh, you need to stop, Dick. You make it too easy for me.”

“Hush you. Not everyone’s clever enough to be a wordsmith.”

“True. Life would get boring after a while if all we ever did was write scathing songs about one another, and spar with puns.”

They parted ways at the inn. Cully’s room was at the end of the hall, and he ducked down through the door. The rest of their party was still another few days out, so he was stuck here. He wondered if Slash would return. He doubted that was the hobgoblin’s actual name, but didn’t question it. 

Cully eyed the small bed, wishing his druid companion was here to shape him something he could actually sleep on. He pulled the bedding off and hunkered down on the patchy bear skin in front of the hearth. At least he wasn’t sleeping on drafty floorboards again. 

A knocking woke him up some hours later. He swung the door open to find nothing but a dark hall, until an “ahem” drew his eyes down. The little kobold, Hox? He wasn’t completely sure if that was right, but it sounded close to what he remembered. “Evening.”

The tiny sorcerer pushed past Cully’s legs and strode into the room. He looked at the nest of blankets in front of the cold hearth. “I’ve decided to go on adventure.”

“Alright.”

“Just, alright? You aren’t going to tell me to go back to the sewers and tend the eggs?”

Cully shrugged, and sat back down on the bear skin. He hadn’t completely slept off all that ale yet. “Why would I do that?”

Hox opened his mouth, then closed it. “Uh…because kobolds don’t go off on their own.”

“Well, you are. So clearly that isn’t true. Why come to me about it?”

He shrugged and cautiously sat near Cully’s knee. “I wanted a second opinion, you’re an adventurer, and you did stop that funny human with the glowing weapons from killing me.”

“I was charmed at the time.”

“Well yes, but you still helped us out after it wore off. So,” he drummed his claws on the staff he’d laid across his lap. “Do you think I should do it?”

“Do you want to?”

“Yes. I think so. Yes. Yes I do.”

“Then do it.” Cully said through a yawn. He was already starting to doze off, until the kobold banged his staff on the floor and declared he’d be the first kobold adventurer. There’d been a few before Hox, Cully was certain, but they didn’t last long enough to be of any note. Either way, he honestly wished the little guy the best of luck.

“Oh,” Hox paused before leaving. “There was a hobgoblin at your door before I knocked. I uh, didn’t know it’s intentions, so I cast a sleeping spell on it. You can kill it if you like.”


	2. Fantasy Eggplant Emoji

A loud squawk woke him up. Cully opened his eyes to a raven staring right at him. Like a miniature Wub-Wub, he thought, and sat up. Before he could really start wondering why the bird was in his tent, he saw the note attached to it’s leg.

The raven perched itself on his shoulder after he detached the letter. It pulled at strands of his hair, and beard while he read. He had to shoo it away when it tried to grab the ring in his ear. No matter how well trained ravens and crows were, shiny things were always a temptation.

It was from Bato, Provaka’s new captain of the guard, and Queen Sarah’s eyes in the port city. Hobgoblins were known (at least according to Mortimer) for their wartime poetry. He guessed romance wasn’t their strong point, after he read the line: “your hair shines like dried elf blood on a blade at dusk.”

He could just picture how blue Bato’s nose had flushed while writing that. Cully had seen it damn near close to purple after their first night together. The size difference had been an interesting obstacle to work around, but in the end, they figured it out. They figured it out a couple of ways.

The note was slipped into his pack, and he fished out some spare parchment. It was crumpled, and still had coffee stains on it from when Mortimer accidentally tipped over the pot onto his pack. He let Bato know he was well, bored, tired of wrangling the orc, but well. Tapping the pen against his knee, he wondered how he should end the response.

The raven clacked it’s beak, and said “bread”.

“Alright, alright.” He pulled out some of the rations and crumbled it onto his blanket for the bird. _Ah_. He smiled to himself as he finished the sentence, then signed: “I look forward to seeing just how blue your nose can get. ~~Sinsir~~ , ~~Regards~~ , Your’s, Cully.”

He tied off the note after the raven picked off the last of the crumbs, and watched the raven fly off. It was still early when he stepped out into the camp. Berthold was still on watch when he made his way to the campfire to stoke the flames. The other firbolg, seeing that he was awake, left his post. “Thinking about breakfast?”

“Mmhm, bacon and eggs?”

“Do we have enough? Donnie wiped out all the dried links last night.”

Cully groaned as he stretched, “scones and gravy then.” He wanted to enjoy the flour and yeast while it lasted, before he and Bert had to start foraging. They were still a week out from Elfhiem.

The cooking food roused everyone else. The orc was the first one to the fire side. Cully had forgotten his name four times now. At this point he was afraid to ask it again, in case it insulted him. He’d taken to referring to him as Donnie, because it sounded right. Unfortunately, it took with everyone else too, to the poor fellow’s confusion.

Cully had to pop him across the hand when he tried to reach into the skillet. The scones weren’t finished, and the iron was still hot. Mortimer didn’t need to waste energy mending scorched fingers this early. “Let everyone else get a serving before you start pillaging.”

“That’s offensive. 

“What else should I call it?”

The orc’s jaw jutted out as he thought it over. “How ‘bout just say: Helping your self. It’s nicer sounding.”

“Fair enough.”

After the minotaur and kenku took their fill; it took another three skillet fulls before he, Bert, and Donnie were satisfied. “What was all that squawking about in your tent, Dick?” Wub-Wub had settled next to him, watching Cully scrape the skillet clean.

“Got a letter.” He sighed, knowing the bard would pry, and pry he did. “From Bato, and it’s none of your business.”

“Oh-ho! So how many sentences were dedicated to comparing that scruff of your’s to blood?”

Cully frowned. How did he know? Guess growing up in the mountains just left me that ignorant, he thought. “Two.”

Wub-Wub laughed, then mimicked the clanging of blades. “Fancy’s got a fancy suitor.” He had to repeat himself, louder, when Mortimer looked up from his book, and asked: “Who has a what?” The minotaur’s reading glasses were askew on the end of his snout.

“Go get your pack ready, we’re leaving in half an hour.” He said, getting up before the kenku could notice just how flushed his cheeks were.


	3. Hot Air

The party was tired of one another. Just over two weeks on foot, left them ready to part ways for a day or so before the next leg of their journey. Get some much needed breathing space, and a bed with a real mattress.

The city of Elfhiem was massive, and technically called Yherith. Being governed by an exclusively elven noble class earned it the nickname. At least according to the notation by whoever drew their map.

And Elfhiem made Cully want to drink. After having service refused twice, he found someone who’d tell him where the worst bar in the city was. Some run down cobblestone hole in the gutter, known for catering to an undesirable crowd. Notably, the poor.

The ceilings were low enough that Cully couldn’t stand upright once he ducked through the door. But they had ale, and took his coin happily.

He squeezed into a booth with four pints and a sloppy bowl of stew. The meat tasted suspiciously like dog, but it was hot and seasoned well. The peppers were going to be hell on his stomach, but that was a problem for later. Right now the food was good, the company tolerable, and the ale was doing what it was intended to do.

While he ate, he felt eyes on him, but nothing came of it. These were the types of looks he was used to. Less judging, less suspicious. “I’ve never seen something like you before” sort of looks. Cully returned a few. Black skinned elves were new to him, and he’d only seen a handful of tieflings.

“There you are, Dick.” Wub-Wub slid in across from him. “You’re easy to track for a ranger, you know?” He peered into the empty bowl, “what’s for lunch?”

“Dog.”

The kenku made a gagging noise when he belched, and left him long enough to order some mead. Cully could smell the poor quality from here. Whoever had made it didn’t control their honey’s source. Wub-Wub’s feathers ruffled when he sipped it. “Tastes like pine resin,” he coughed. He probably wasn’t far off, Cully thought.

“Oi, bird, you a bard?”

They both turned to look at the man who shouted across the room. The firbolg braced himself for a potential fight. He could already see the kenku puffing up, and silently dreaded what might come out of that beak. One hand instinctively dropped to rest on the head of a throwing axe.

“No. I just carry this lute for looks.” Then he warbled a laugh, “I’m joking, I’m joking. No need to get all blustery. If you got the coin, I got the tunes.”

Wub-Wub could mimic anything he’d heard. So he started off with an upbeat sailor song, followed by a love ballad. Each voice was different. A ghost of the person who’d originally sung it. Cully’d always liked listening to them all. So long as kenku existed, no one ever really got lost to time.

The man, however, didn’t care for it. Before the half-orc could finish his request for the next song, he stood up. “You got anything original, bird? Don’t have to pay my daughter’s music box to play a song.”

He watched the two men who shared his table start to stand up when Wub-Wub hesitated. Damn it. He didn’t feel like fighting, nor did he didn’t want the kenku to start singing about their exploits. With that always came questions and quests. But if they wanted a song, they could have it. Cully began to sing the first thing that came to mind. Something his mother used to sing while they foraged.

When he stopped, he saw Wub-Wub staring at him. The feathers on his head were standing on end, making him look like a black puff ball with a beak.

“Well shit, that giant fellow got some half decent pipes.” 

Four of the patrons tossed in some copper and silver into the kenku’s upturned hat. 

It was time to leave. The half-orc was crying into his tankard. He didn’t want them to request an encore or any other songs. He only knew a handful, and nothing very jaunty.

“Where the hell did that come from?” Wub-Wub asked, jogging to keep up with him.

Cully shrugged, “Ma always encouraged singing. Kept bears away.”

“Bears? You’ve been hiding that voice from us, from _me_ all this time? Hey… Slow down, you big bastard.” The kenku grabbed Cully’s belt, and swung up to hold onto his shoulders. His talons hooked into the bear pelt the firbolg used as a cloak.

“Need me to get a baby carrier for you?”

“No…” He paused and tapped his beak. “Actually, do they make ones large enough? You are bigger than an ox, and smell marginally better.”


	4. Failed Dex Save

He hated fighting in close combat, but the damned thing shook off his arrows. The Runeblade hurt it though. Got it’s attention too, but Cully couldn’t vanish into the sewer tunnels. Not with those gashes on his thigh dripping blood everywhere.

Fucking barghest. Fucking fast bugger. At least it was off Wub-Wub’s tail, so the bard could help Bert seal off the remaining escape routes. The corralling plan was working, but hadn’t originally included live bait of the Cully variety.

“Mortimer I could use a healing hand down here!”

He hadn’t been expecting something like this when Bato requested the party’s help, regarding a string of murders. Maybe some hold overs from those pirates taking a little revenge; those shady kenku gondoliers; not a goblin werewolf.

The minotaur had stayed above ground, out of danger, in case someone was injured. Though he would’ve been immensely useful in the maze of tunnels. Donnie had gotten lost early. Cully could still hear him shouting over the snarling, spitting thing.

Even with the beast smaller than him, the force of it impacting his torso was enough to knock him back. He kept a death grip on the sword as he went down, swinging up, trying to stab it. Must’ve landed somewhere, because it screamed.

Then bit him.

The firbolg shouted when one of it’s fangs hooked the ring in his ear and ripped it free, along with a chunk of cartilage and fur. Fuck the sword. He punched it in it’s puggish snout, again and again, until the claws came loose. He was able to shake it off, and get his feet under him once more. “Mortimer! Bert! Any fucking time now.”

As it lunged again, the beast stopped short. Cully watched vines pull it back, and up through one of the manhole openings. He sheathed the blade and made his way up the ladder. Donnie’ll find his way out eventually, or Provaka could have a new sewer legend.

“Whoa, that thing tore you up something fierce, Dick. Hey Mortimer, you got another healing word in you tonight? Dick’d probably fancy one of those.”

He found a bench, so he wouldn’t pass out while Mortimer worked. So long as he focused on watching Bert secure the barghest for Bato, and six goblin guards, he was okay. He’d be fine. Just dandy. That new eyepatch Bato had looked really nice with his armor.

“Oh dear. If you’re going to faint, lean back please. I’m not done with your thigh.”

Cully didn’t remember getting into a bed. All he knew was he could smell oatmeal, honey, and blackberries. Was that coffee? He hoped it was. His head was pounding, and his vision blurry. Coffee was exactly what he wanted.

“Ah, you’re awake. I’m glad.” Bato set the mugs down long enough to help the ranger sit up. While he drank, Bato filled him in on what happened after he blacked out. Bert’d been able to keep the beast restrained long enough for it to revert back.

The goblin, Diggly, had been unaware of his condition. For now, he was temporarily on medical leave while Bato decided what to do. He wasn’t sure if charges should be brought against Diggly. “I have your clerics working on it.”

“Clerics?” Mortimer was the only cleric.

“The orc.”

Wait, what? Donn-Thokk was a cleric? The same I’m going to rush in and hit things with my big axe, Thokk? “I’m dead, aren’t I?”

Bato chuckled and pushed Cully’s hair over one shoulder. “No. You’re addled, and missing half your left ear, but alive.”


	5. A High Constitution

Cully sits in the plush chair, stripped of his armor and underclothes. The room has a beautiful view of the mountainside, and he’d reclined back to enjoy it. He knew these mountains. He also knew there were places in those mountains he couldn’t go. Not anymore. So he’d been left behind, while Bert took the party to visit the firbolg village in the valley behind Overlook Mountain. He’d sent Wub-Wub off with a gift for his ma.

He feels a hand on his shoulder, and looks up to see Bato. “Do you miss them?”

“Mm. My parents, and Meema. The rest can fuck off.”

Bato moves in front of him and kneels down between his legs. Parting his knees wider, Cully can’t hide his smile. When the hobgoblin’s tongue touches his length, he groans. That tongue teases him until he’s painfully erect and begging.

His cheeks are hot when Bato leans up and tells him to go make sure he’s properly ready.

The water closet was a tight squeeze, but, if he sucked in, he could scoot past the sink to the aqua privy without knocking anything over.

As unattractive as the process was, the anticipation made him wet. When he stands up, he slides two fingers into himself, slicking them. Those fingers move to work himself open from behind. As much as he’d prefer to have Bato slowly warm him up, Cully just didn’t have the patience. He wants to be fucked. To be driven into the mattress until his neighbors bang on the wall to tell them to keep it down.

Bato’s waiting for him, standing at attention next to the bed. He’d always thought it was the hobgoblin’s military upbringing, but he’d discovered that it was simply because he didn’t know what to do with himself. “And what was I getting prepared for?”

The hobgoblin’s nose is a fierce shade a blue when he orders Cully to the bed.

He obliges, and lays on his belly, watching Bato over his shoulder. He bites his lip when he climbs onto the bed between Cully’s legs. “I see you started without me.”

“Figured I’d save you some time.”

Bato scoops a generous amount of balm from the jar in his hand. Cully thought that might be too much until he makes the connection. Maybe he should’ve gone to three. By the time Bato got up to his wrist, Cully has his face buried in the pillow to muffle himself. He’d never been so full, and it feels wonderful.

Bato kisses him between the shoulders, easing his hand out. “Where’s that plug?”

“In my pack. Rolled it up in the blanket.”

When he returned, Cully feels the cool tip of tempered glass brush the tip of his cock. Bato parts his lips and circles his entrance. He’d never used it in his cunt, and gasps when the plug is pushed in. He watches as best he can while Bato greases himself, and slides into him. He could feel Bato’s cock move against the plug, separated by only a thin wall of flesh. It pushes the flared base against his cock each time he buries himself to the hilt.

Blunt claws squeeze his cheeks, and Cully puts a hand against the wall to keep from being knocked against it. When he dropped his head, it was pulled back up as Bato winds a hand through his hair.

Any frustrations Cully had today are forgotten. The jealously he felt when everyone but him could visit a place he used to call home; the shitty service he got at the bar; the four chairs he broke, and paid twice what they were actually worth; the fight in the latrine. It all leaves his mind as he loses himself to the sensation of being thoroughly fucked.

Bato groans when Cully’s orgasm pulses in steady waves, temporarily locking them together. He reaches down, rubbing his thumb across his head until the firbolg’s squirming. Once it subsides enough, he regains his rhythm, picking a rough pace that has Cully’s voice rising an octave.

They ignore the knock against the wall. “Please,” Cully gasps. “Fuck. Bato. I can’t.”

By the time Bato comes the firbolg’s shaking. His thighs feel like jelly, and the steady throb of a second orgasm has his toes curling. He’s sweating and his fingers are trembling. When Bato pulls out, he feels his hand pat his side for him to roll onto his back. “Hold it in.”

He welcomes the change in position though his cheeks are flushed. The plug presses tight in the new position. His knee is pushed up, and draped over Bato’s shoulder.

“What are…oh,” he moans when the hobgoblin’s hand enters him, slipping in easily. He’s able to reach mid-forearm before Cully winces.

Leaning forward, Bato takes the firbolg’s soft length into his mouth. Cully didn’t think he had anything left in him to even try, but that tongue and fist coax him upright. He can’t control how badly his thighs were quivering, but Bato holds him still as best he can.

He props himself up just enough to see the hobgoblin’s head bob, and the flex of his shoulders as he pumps that arm. His fist would catch the edge of the plug each time he pulled back, pressing it upwards. Only twice it nearly popped out. Cully’s so wet, he was having a hard time keeping it in if it wriggled too far down his canal. He feels it damp in his hair, and cooling in the space between the plug and Bato’s arm.

The third time he comes is a sluggish one; dull, but warm. His body just wants to sink into the mattress and remain there. It takes a great deal of willpower just to get out of the bed.  

The plug stays in until they could clean up. They weren’t completely certain their species were compatible, or if Cully was even capable of procreating (the hag wasn’t exactly specific about that, and Cully’d never thought to ask), so they wanted to play it safe nonetheless.

They crowd into the water closet to towel off. Cully’s wedged next to the privy so Bato can have the sink. He pushes his damp hair over one shoulder and off his neck.

A bath could wait until later. At least for Cully, because he isn’t sure how much longer his legs were going to keep supporting him.

After Bato unties his hair, he reaches down and pulls the plug free. A thick thread of fluid ties them together, before breaking and clinging to the inside of the firbolg’s thigh. He gives the dense fur between Cully’s legs a pat, which makes him chuckle: “Did it do a good job?”

Bato opens and closes his mouth. “Yes?”

He grins, and catches himself before he says: “I love you.” It still lingers on the tip of his tongue. Fuck it, he thinks, and blurts it out in a jumbled rush. Cully’s cheeks are hot. The silence that stretches causes the heat to spread to his ears and down his neck.

The expression of Bato’s face was hard to figure out until he smiles. He’d never seen him smile so fully outside of a fight. The last time he saw a flash of teeth like that was when the hobgoblin bisected a gnoll with that greatsword of his.

“Took you long enough.” He reaches up, and pulls Cully down for a kiss. “Love you too.” 

When his claws scratch beneath the firbolg’s chin, he’s forced to sit down when his knees finally give out. The corner is small, and Bato has to grab his wrists, and pull to get him out of the awkward position he’d gotten stuck in.

Cully rubs at sore spot on his side, where he scraped it against the edge of the privy, and follows Bato back to bed.


	6. Down Time

This time Cully took the land route to Provaka. He was traveling alone and didn’t need to adopt a slower pace for the smaller members of the party. An additional week on the road was better than five days on a ship.

The hunting was good, and the scenery beautiful. Until he reached a series of small settlements north of his destination. He saw the plumes of smoke first, then the strong odor of burning bodies and roof thatching hit him. He kept to the woods, only coming close enough to see the destruction.

Gnolls.

The activity was getting worse. They weren’t just attacking caravans or small villages now. The ranger made note of the locations on his map before moving on. He planned on informing Bato, if the hobgoblin didn’t know already.

He did. The captain was in the middle of a briefing when Cully got to the barracks. He poked his head in the door to listen, as Bato assigned a small squadron of goblins and two bugbears to begin patrolling outside the town.

When the guards filed out to get back to their duties, Cully ducked inside. Bato offered him a smile once the room was empty, but the firbolg could see the stress in the line of his shoulders, and the furrow between his brows. “I saw the damage in the north.”

“They’re getting bolder.”

“Because they’re getting bigger. I estimated at least seventy five, not including their hyenas.”

Bato sighed, and looked at the map painted on the wall behind him. The east and south had been hit as well. All within ten miles of the town walls. “I don’t have enough able bodies to protect Provaka if those three bands decide to start working together. The guards in the noble’s district have refused cooperate with my men.”

Cully grunted. “They might change their mind when gnolls start crawling over their pretty gate.”

“We can only hope. I put in a request to Queen Sarah for additional troops.”

Bato’s hand brushed across Cully’s knuckles. He told him to go get settled in while he made his final inspection of the day. Before he left, Cully bent down and snagged a kiss, just to see Bato’s nose start to turn blue.

The room was just as it was the last time he was here. The desk, however, was covered in parchment. Odd, considering how organized Bato usually was. He poked through the papers. Several were rough drafts of the request he sent to Cornelia, one was to him. It looked like he’d toned down the frustration he vented in the letter Cully actually received. Other than a handful of letters from town officials, the rest were filled from margin to margin with calligraphy.

“Hey, big boss.”

Cully jumped. He’d been so engrossed he’d failed to notice the goblin standing in the doorway. He forgot the little fellow’s name, but he was one of two goblins that referred to him by that title.

Her name was Blix, and Cully felt embarrassed that he’d assumed she was male. “Nah, don’t be. This armor doesn’t exactly make it easy, yeah?” She rapped on the front of her breastplate. “If it makes ya feel better; when I first saw you, I thought someone had shaved a bugbear.”

He finally asked why she, and the other goblin called him “big boss”.

She shrugged. “Because you’re the Boss’s partner, and you’re big.” It also gave him some anonymity, she explained. Hobgoblins don’t like to have an obvious weakness, and Cully was a large, and not a remotely subtle weakness.

“He treats us like equals. I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but hobgoblins aren’t exactly known for that, as far as what they consider inferior races go.

“That’s why he tries to hide the extent of his relationship with you. He doesn’t want to seem weak in front of us, but I know. So does Golaka and Diggly. Don’t worry though, we won’t say anything.”

“Is that why he’s not part of a war band?”

Blix’s ears twitched, “he never told you?” When Cully shook his head, she looked over her shoulder and through the doorway. “His whole war band got wiped out fif-no, sixteen years ago. I don’t know how, or how he even survived; but Bikke found him in a bar somewhere in the south about seven years back. Golaka was part of the crew when he was first brought on.”

Her ears swivel back and she snaps to attention. It wasn’t long after that Bato arrived. She gave him her report and left, but not before giving Cully a wink.

As Bato finished the last of his paperwork, Cully stripped off his armor. He laid them out carefully so the hobgoblin wouldn’t get aggravated by the disorder. When he stretched out on the bed, Bato joined him a short while later. He rested his forehead against the firbolg’s chest, and curled up against his torso when Cully wrapped an arm around him.

What Bato wanted was some quiet, and to not be in control for a little while. Cully was more than happy to provide that.


	7. Opposed Strength Check

Bato watched Cully get swarmed by five of his guards. The goblins had placed bets on who could bring him down, and after losing, decided to place bets on how many it’d take to accomplish that. Golaka even rushed forward, and leapt onto the firbolg’s back. It staggered him, but he held his ground, laughing all the while.

They deserved some fun. A break from the pressure mounting from the destruction of outlying villages. He was tired of thinking about gnolls, and was certain they were as well.

It was the addition of Grung that finally took Cully down. The old bugbear shock trooper, turned chef, grabbed him around the waist and fell forward. Luckily for Smalls, Wirt, and Rox, they saw him approaching and got out of the way in time.

“Alright, you win.” Cully wheezed from beneath the fat bugbear.

Wirt and Grung split their winnings.

“Tenacious little buggers,” Cully said after he found Bato. He winced and rubbed at his lower back. 

“Indeed.” He couldn’t hide the flush that started spreading up his nose while he watched him stretch. The firbolg was a fascinating creature… person. He’d seen his share of giants, mostly of the hill variety,  but never a firbolg until that day at the docks. They looked like smaller (by comparison), softer, and considerably hairier stone giants.

Carefully, Cully sat on the bench next to him. It creaked in warning, but held. “So how many does it take to bring you down?”

Bato frowned. It’d only taken one. A well timed dagger through the gap in his armor, during the great coup that destroyed his clan. All of his lineage but his eldest son, and twin daughters were gone. Wiped out by infighting over a botched power play.

Charak and Veka still wrote him regularly. He hadn’t heard from Dagmir in years, and neither had his siblings. If he was dead, he hoped he died with honor.

Cully was looking at him. Those large brows furrowed with worry. So he smiled, “I’m not sure. None of them are foolhardy enough to challenge me.”


	8. Homebrew

The village of Longleaf had been saved. Mostly. Market row was a burnt husk, and half the homes were destroyed. Half the town’s people were destroyed as well. So it evened out.

The tavern was still barricaded. Cully could hear the survivors inside; mostly children crying. He tried knocking, to no avail. So he put his shoulder into the door to let himself in, and was immediately met with shrieks. He threw his hand up a little too late, and got an empty tankard to the face. He was pelted with missiles of bottles, mugs, two plates, and brass candle holders. Some fool tried to hurl a stool, but it felt short of it’s mark by a few feet; bouncing harmlessly across the floor.

Wub-Wub, who wasn’t far behind him, squawked as a fork pinged off his beak. “Whoa, whoa! Is this the kind of thanks your heroes get? Dick!” He ducked down behind the firbolg’s leg to avoid more missiles. “Just catch one of those bottles, and let’s go.”

“Already ahead of you.” He said, and pulled a bottle of bourbon from his shirt. It’d hit him square in the stomach, and he’d caught it before it fell to the floor. It was still full. The wax seal hadn’t been broken yet.  

“Well, grab one for me, you big bastard. That’s just a taster for you.”

Cully ducked down through the door, and waded through the barricade of tables and chairs as the people inside cowered away from him. Some whispered “what sort of monster is that?” He ignored it all. Behind the bar were a few intact bottles. Mostly home-brewed wine. A whiskey, one of the mystery wines, and a growler of ale would do. Before he left, he fished around his coin purse for a few gold and left them on the counter. Their town had been ransacked. He wasn’t about to steal from them.

“It’s safe to go out.” He said, motioning out the door with a bottle. “Our cleric can help with the wounded. Just look for the big horned _monster_ , if you can stand to get close to him.”

“Don’t go to the orc for healing unless your injuries are minor, or you’re that desperate.” The kenku added, and muttered “or that stupid” under his breath. He then jogged to catch back up with Cully, who’s long strides had already carried him halfway across the desolate town square.

Wub-Wub grabbed the back of the bear skin cloak, and summited the firbolg to rest on his shoulders. He took the offered wine bottle, using his dagger to pull the cork free. His feathers ruffled after he took an experimental sip. “It tastes exactly how it smells: Like dog breath and feet.”

Cully frowned, “how would you know what those taste like?”

“I was painting a word picture, Dick.”

“Not a good one.” He tried the ale first. It was alright. A little too bitter for his liking, but it’d do the job.

“I’m sorry that I can’t invoke an engaging mental experience for you. I’m still getting over having a bunch of gnolls in my face… and flesh deficient gnolls.”

“Witherlings.”

“Whatever. You think Bert will give up that fancy armor we found, Fancy?”

“Not likely.”

“Damn,” he muttered. He then reached down and swiped at the growler. “Let me try some of that.”

The growler was large and unwieldy in his hands. He looked like a child as he tipped it to his beak. “Not bad. Not good either. You want a sip of the wine?”

“You just said it wasn’t good.”

“Do you want some anyway?”

“Yeah, alright.”


End file.
